The Man

She glances in the mirror of the dainty little vanity

examining the features that provide the months salary

and wonders where she’d be if her hair was red.

Her shining black tresses, as dark as evenings on the job,

fall in her eyes and allow for easy coverage

when she doesn’t feel like facing the world outside;

with their twig-like fingers pointing daggers at her soul

while they sing about a Hope that’s not reflected in their stares.

The glass holds eyes that dare not dream to see

a Man like they describe.

A Man who doesn’t sneak out in the night

with His tail between his legs,

ashamed to know her name,

But who stands with her in newness of light

and shouts to the world, “She is mine”.

One who sees past the nakedness of her body

to the bareness of her soul,

and vows to fill the void that no other ventures to brave.

A Man who can free her from the depravity that keeps them

knock, knock, knocking…

Her heartbeat quickens as her head turns

like the handle on the door and she looks into his darting eyes

that refuse to meet hers.

As she lays her dark locks on the pillow, she knows that

such a Man cannot be.